Victoria met her eyes, unfazed by her sudden appearance. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed your face. How did you get past my guards?”
“I’ve got my ways,” Jennie told her. She felt the wraiths and was thankful they remained unseen. “You know this is all over, don’t you? There’s nowhere else to run.”
Victoria looked at the ceiling and took a long breath. “You know, for over sixty years, I’ve been the queen of the paranormal court, something I could never even have dreamed of in my mortal life. I was nothing more than a piece of meat for men to play with, a toy to be used and discarded. On the day I died, I was almost thankful it had happened. The relief was overwhelming.”
Jennie moved her hand to the Big Bitch. “You think I give a shit about your whiny little backstory? Save me the pity party. You’ve twisted everything the court stands for, and all because…what? You wanted power? When I out you as the impostor you are, the world is going to change. Everything is going to be undone.”
Victoria stared at her with eyes that weren’t her own. “I never went looking for power. Power found me. If you offer water to a man dying of thirst, he’ll accept without question. I was given an opportunity, so I took it.”
“And killed Victoria in the process.”
Victoria smirked. For the first time since Jennie had appeared, there was a victorious smile on her face. “My dear, you really are naïve, aren’t you? Do you know what it takes to kill a monarch? Think about what you’re saying.”
“You’re saying Victoria’s alive?” Jennie asked.
Victoria chuckled. “I’m not saying anything.”
Jennie raised the Big Bitch and trained it at her face. “Who are you?”
Victoria held that irritating smile on her face as she closed her eyes and began to transform. The heavy-bodied monarch with the white headdress vanished before her eyes, leaving behind a beautiful woman with long dark hair and clothes which would be better thrown away than worn.
“Does this help humanize me?” she asked.
Jennie narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
The woman wagged her finger, transforming back into Victoria. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes,” Jennie stated flatly.
Victoria shrugged. “Well, too bad. We don’t all get what we want. You wanted to break into Buckingham Palace and capture the queen, but how are you going to do that in handcuffs?”
She looked over Jennie’s shoulder at a man in a black uniform with SIS printed on the chest and back who came into the room and clicked handcuffs around Jennie’s wrists.
Jennie latched onto Canute and turned spectral, expecting to slip out of the cuffs and regain her freedom. “What the fuck?” Even as a specter, the handcuffs held, changing form alongside her.
Victoria gave the SIS agent a regal nod. “Not bad.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” the agent replied.
“The latest technology,” Victoria told Jennie. “Can you believe the advancements that can be made when you pay the right people and focus your resources? Spectral energy-imbued restraints—they’re a gamechanger. I’m just happy you’re the first criminal we captured with them.”
Jennie glared at the impostor, trying to work her hand toward the sword nestled against her hip.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Buckingham Palace, London
Baxter focused solely on the big boy in front of him. He had not been involved in many conflicts until he’d met Jennie, but he could hold his own.
Of course, those conflicts had been against specters who viewed his size as a challenge, rather than Bhoots whose size worked very much in his favor.
Staring at the guard, Baxter made a decision. He would fight to the death, and he wouldn’t hold back.
He stepped forward and launched a right hook at the Bhoot.
Once again, the Bhoot’s hands caught his fist. Baxter went for the left, and the Bhoot grabbed that hand, too.
The guard laughed, setting his feet shoulder width apart as he leaned in and squeezed Baxter’s fists. “Dumbass specter, thinking you can take me because you’re big.”
Baxter saw movement a flurry behind the guard and grinned. “Not quite. I’m just the distraction.”
The Bhoot looked down in alarm as Carolyn’s foot appeared between his legs and landed heavily in his balls.
The Bhoot’s knees pulled together and his hands went to his crotch.
Baxter shook his head and clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t matter what type of specter you are, God created the same weakness in every male.” With his hands free, he threw another right hook, and this time the blow connected with the Bhoot’s jaw. He gave him a left hook, then jabbed him in his nose.
The Bhoot’s head flew back, and spectral blood sprayed the air. Baxter pounced on him, taking advantage of the situation, and he and Carolyn rained punch after punch on every part of his body. Some of the Obake had recovered enough to get involved in beating the Bhoot until he was unconscious.
Meanwhile, Feng Mian took his stance and beckoned the Bhoot he had knocked over. The Bhoot’s face was laced with anger, his attention trained on Feng Mian.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore through gritted teeth. “Puny little shit, think you can take on the likes of me—”
Feng Mian struck with the rapidity of a snake. He punched the Bhoot in the stomach, the chest, the throat, and the chin in a rapid flurry of movements.
The Bhoot spluttered and clutched his throat, unsure what the hell had just happened.
Feng Mian held his stance, his face as serene as if he were sowing seeds in the garden.
Riled, the Bhoot dashed forward and threw a giant fist at Feng Mian’s head. The force looked set to knock the specter through the wall and out of the room.
But the blow didn’t connect.
White light sparked as a shield appeared to block the incoming fist, and the next thing the Bhoot knew was that he’d been blasted back across the room, his giant bulk stopped by hitting the wall.
The Obake applauded. Never before had they seen a display of power like this, and they rose to their feet and got involved in the action. With the two Bhoots piled on by specters, it left Baxter, Carolyn, Feng Mian, and a shaken and silent Lupe out of the action.
Baxter looked around the room, hunting. His heart dropped when he spotted Porter on the floor with his fingers millimeters from the pistol.
Carolyn jumped forward and reached in vain for the gun. She was still feet from it. She watched in dismay as Porter’s fingers wrapped around the handle, his finger finding the trigger.
She cried out in anguish, but she was determined. She put her every ounce of her energy into wishing she could take the gun. She imagined it in her hand, away from the clutches of the monster, and a strange thing happened.
As Carolyn urged the gun to be hers, a thin tendril of spectral energy snaked away from her hand, growing in thickness as it moved rapidly toward the barrel of the gun.
Porter stood up and brushed himself off, aiming the gun at Baxter’s face. He was about to open his mouth to speak when he noticed the tendril and jerked the gun away.
It was too late. The tendril connected with the pistol, and it sprang to Carolyn.
She caught the gun ungracefully and stared at it in amazement.
“Perhaps that is your power,” Feng Mian muttered, although his remark was drowned out by Baxter.
“Carolyn, focus!” Baxter yelled. “Neat trick, but we need you in the game.”
Carolyn realized what Baxter was saying and held the gun with both hands in front of her, aiming it at Porter. The maneuver didn’t feel natural, but then again, Carolyn had never before held a gun.
Well, there’s a first time for everything, she thought, eyes flickering from Porter to her hands, which had somehow summoned the weapon.
For the first time in her life, Jennie felt despair creeping in.
She had overcome a thousand obstacles in her career. Had taken on impossible monsters, des
troyed life-destroying cults, drug-addled mobsters, even rescued a couple of kittens from trees.
But in all of her years of service, one of the main things which had gotten her through was her ability to outwit the specters. To rely on her gifts and know that, no matter how tough times got, her powers would see her through.
So, what now?
She had transformed from mortal to specter to invisible, and even with the latter, the handcuffs remained fixed firmly around her wrists. The Big Bitch was on the floor and out of reach, and she couldn’t quite grasp her sword. She was on her knees with an SIS agent aiming his weapon at her head.
This was an appropriate time to panic.
Who does panic serve? Jennie reminded herself. Think, Jennie. Nice deep breaths and think.
The woman disguised as Victoria thanked the agent and knelt before Jennie. She touched her chin and lifted her head to meet her gaze.“I knew I would get you. All these years of fearing the day you would turn, and now I have you. I have to admit, it took a lot longer than I suspected it might, but the most rewarding victories are the ones you have to wait for.”
Jennie scowled, unblinking.
The woman smiled for a few seconds, then turned to the agent. “Take her to the cells below and ensure the guards keep her under permanent watch. I’m going to have fun dismantling this human piece by piece.”
The agent nodded and dragged Jennie to her feet. He roughly shoved her toward a door Jennie hadn’t noticed.
“Just one thing before I go,” Jennie called, pausing and turning over her shoulder.
“Yes?” Victoria asked.
“Where is she?” Jennie demanded.
Jennie knew she couldn’t say Victoria’s name. Why else would the woman have transformed into Victoria again before the agent arrived? Even now, at the end of all things, the SIS believed this woman to be the real Victoria, but the question still plagued her mind.
“She’s safe,” the woman replied. “Doing what she loves best.”
Jennie gave a slow nod, then allowed herself to be shoved again by the agent. She stopped when she reached the doorway. “One final, final thing.”
The woman sighed. “What?”
Jennie frowned. “If I’m heading down to your torture labyrinth, who’s going to tell Victoria’s family the truth?”
The woman gave Jennie a strange look. “Victoria’s… What are you…”
Several balls of black smoke appeared in the room, hovering in the spaces around the woman. She looked up in fear as the smoking balls materialized into wraiths.
The agent drew his pistol, dropping Jennie’s arm. He let off several shots but the bullets passed straight through the wraiths and into the wall, leaving small holes behind.
In the distraction, Jennie shuffled her bound hands to one side and thumbed a small pocket she had just for this purpose. She twisted and drew out a vial she deftly fiddled with, ensuring the vial remained upright.
When the lid was off, she leaned backward and tipped the liquid onto her handcuffs, doing everything she could to ensure the acid didn’t touch her skin. It chewed through the chain of the cuffs just fine, and soon her hands were free.
Taking advantage of the agent’s lack of concentration on his prisoner, Jennie dug her thumb and forefinger into the hollow behind his ear and pressed to send a surge of pain through his nerves and render him unconscious.
The agent crumpled to the floor, where he started to snore gently.
The woman disappeared as the wraiths shrouded her. Jennie gave the agent a swift kick to check that he was truly out of action, then reached down and drew a second set of handcuffs from his pocket. These she used to bind his hands behind his back, ensuring he couldn’t get up to any funny business while she addressed the imposter.
Satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere, Jennie walked through the smoke and joined the woman in the center of the circle, where the space was as clear as the eye of a hurricane.
Jennie drew the sword and pointed it toward the cowering specter on the floor. “There’s a funny thing a lot of people don’t know about the royal line. Like, for example, did you know that while the British public believes the bodies of serving monarchs are primarily buried at Westminster Abbey, there’s actually a small little graveyard on the western side of London where the bodies are kept?”
The woman was speechless and her eyes darted from wraith to wraith.
Jennie continued, “I discovered the mausoleum some time ago—right around 1936, actually. These guys helped me out on a mission, and I learned a lot about the royal line from them.”
The wraiths pulsed with cold anger.
Jennie understood it all too well. “Of course, that was years ago, way before I wised up to what was going on with your little reign of terror. Before you’d gotten involved in the exorcism of your competitors and ensured the line ended with you.”
She moved closer and held the tip of the blade to the woman’s throat. “I wouldn’t have had any clue either if you hadn’t have sent me to New York and started all this shit. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
The woman finally found her tongue. “You’re crazy. The royal line exorcised themselves to allow for the next monarch to serve. History tells us—”
“Do not believe what is written in history,” Jennie told her. “Anyone can weave the story into their own narrative. You of all people should know that.”
Jennie addressed the wraiths in turn, pointing at each as she went. Each one she named gave the slightest of nods. “I’d like you to say hi to Henry II, and Williams I and II. That is Harold, and this is Harthacanute.”
Jennie paused when she got to Canute. “And this…this is the monarch who began it all—the king who began the paranormal court and brought the order into the history books. I’d like you to say hello to Canute the Dane, also known as Cnut the Great.”
Canute loomed over the woman, who shrank beneath his presence.
Jennie chuckled darkly. “Funny thing, really. Considering how vital this guy was to setting up everything you’ve fought so hard to take over, few remember his name. I guess it really is easy to hide the truth when you sit in the seat of power.”
Canute grew in size, his presence becoming a fierce black cloud above them all. “You have tarnished the throne on which our line sits and jeopardized all the court once stood for. Death is too easy a punishment for you.”
Jennie drew the sword back.
The woman cowered before Canute. She placed both hands on the floor and muttered incomprehensible words.
“Still, death is the only true punishment,” he added.
The woman jerked her head up suddenly, a crazed look in her eyes. The next thing Jennie knew, she had transformed into a perfect clone of Jennie and was staring at the wraiths with hatred in her eyes.
“You’ve got nothing on me,” she hissed. “I will remain the one true quee—”
A blinding flash of light filled the room when Jennie slashed the woman with the saber. The blade made contact, and a deafeningly shrill scream filled the room.
The light vanished as suddenly as it came, leaving a heavy silence behind.
“I never thought I’d be the one to kill myself,” Jennie quipped as she looked down. There was nothing left of the woman.
Ignoring Jennie’s jokes, the wraiths gathered behind her.
“Victoria,” Canute asked. “Where is she?”
Jennie holstered her weapon, trying to think it all through logically. She remembered what the woman had told her and gave a resolute nod. “Doing what she loves best.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Buckingham Palace, London, 1904
Jennie thanked her guide for leading her through the third floor of the palace, a floor she’d never visited or even thought to explore during her residence here.
The entire floor had been almost deserted, the walls lined with portraits of kings, queens, barons, dukes, and earls. Everywhere she looked, there was a statue, vase, paintin
g, or ornamental decoration. This was where the true hidden beauty of the palace was hidden.
The guide knocked three times on a thick wooden door and waited.
“Come in,” a cheery voice called.
The guide pushed the door open for Jennie and introduced her to the room.
Jennie’s eyes lit up. The room was a shrine to art. Dotted around the room were easels with paintings in various stages of completion. Brushes were stored in pots on the surfaces, and there were jars of paint in the glass-fronted cabinets around the room.
On the walls were paintings that told stories through their details, pieces that spanned the length and breadth of history. Duplicates and originals spanned the walls from bottom to top, covering the extraordinarily high walls of the room.
Victoria stood in the center, beaming at Jennie with a brush in one hand and paint splattered on her cheeks. “Thank you, Gerald. You may leave us.”
The guide bowed low and left them alone.
Jennie tried to take it all in, marveling at each portrait and art piece. She thought about her love for the theater and saw how art could be universal, no matter what medium the artist used.
“It’s really something, isn’t it?” Victoria remarked, adding a brushstroke to a brightly colored bunch of flowers. “Art is the only universal language—a way to cross language barriers and find a common form of expression. For years, art has been my obsession, but I was unable to practice as I wanted to. I would spend hours—days, even—yearning for time alone to attend to my muse, but the demands of the monarchy are too great. I never got a moment to myself.”
Jennie remained quiet, having learned that even with her favorites, the queen was always in a better mood when she was allowed to say her piece.
“Death has granted me few luxuries. I still have many matters to attend to, but now there is time at least to spend a few hours a week here, working on the things that make me happiest.”
“I thought ruling made you happy?” Jennie asked, unable to stop herself.
Victoria chuckled and turned to face her fully. “Ruling does make me happy. It’s all I ever dreamed it could be, yet ruling in the afterlife is not much different from the way it was in my mortal life. Politicians still argue with each other, the world is still unbalanced, and there are always fires to extinguish.” She jabbed her paintbrush at Jennie. “Which is why I summoned you, my little flower.”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 59